


Renew (Day 2)

by ijemanja



Category: Leverage
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Community: purimgifts, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-23
Updated: 2010-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijemanja/pseuds/ijemanja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hands under her skirt are nothing new, not any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Renew (Day 2)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sabrina_il (marina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/gifts).



> Vaguely set post-season two. Contains equally vague reference to events in the finale episode, 'The Maltese Falcon Job'.
> 
> I hope you like this one, Marina! I wondered about whether porny stuff was really appropriate for this exchange, but in stalking your lj thought you might be okay with a high rating, and then I just went for it and came up with a total PWP. If that was the wrong impression... then this is the worst Purim giftfic ever, and I am very sorry!

His hands under her skirt are nothing new, not any more.

His hands, restless on her thighs, travel up till thumbs hook in her knickers and drag them down. They've barely made it through the door, she doesn't even know if they've bothered to close it behind them and she doesn't care, honestly she doesn't.

Her head falls back on his shoulder as his hand slides between her legs and his fingers rub along the lips of her cunt. She's wet already, like she is almost constantly these days, or at least that's how it feels at times. Ever since they got him back and they started this.

Or, to put it another way, finished it.

But anyway it's familiar now, the way Nate's fingers push in slow, sink into her, and how his breath is hot on the side of her face as he holds her there, about ready to come on his hand when he's barely even had to work for it. The bastard. She'd always thought he had to be good at this - or, no, perhaps 'hoped' is the correct word. When his fingers begin to move, sliding out, pressing back in hard, oh yes right there, she lifts her arms over her head to clutch at his hair because her knees are weak and he's all she's got to hold onto. Then he does it again, and again.

He's hard against her ass by now. She considers it an invitation to rub back against him, and his fingers slip out of her to pass wet and lazy over her clit a few times while, she gathers, he considers his options.

She decides for him. Pulling away, she stumbles the few steps over to the side table there in the front hallway. Presses her palms flat. Tosses her hair and meets his eye in the mirror, waiting. And really she could care less about the smirk on his face so long as he's there, touching her again, soon.

And he is, hands back under her skirt, pushing it right up over her hips and her panties down past her knees. She steps out of them while he opens his trousers. He presses close, tugging at her top until it comes down off one shoulder, taking her bra strap with it. Roughly he palms her breast and she's panting now, her forehead resting on the mirror so all she can see is her own breath misting the glass. She closes her eyes and waits, waits because the waiting is so good; she's certainly done enough of it, she should know. And because Nathan Ford does nothing well if not deliver a proper finish.

His cock inside her is not a relief, frankly, nothing like it. It's too much and too little, too slow, and then he's pressing damp kisses to her shoulder and playing with her nipple like they've got bloody all day, and that's it, she can't wait any more. She shifts her weight, frees a hand to work at her clit, slick little circles, nothing fancy, moaning as it all starts to build up, sensation on top of sensation.

Nate rearranges himself too, having never been the patient type, either, really. He wraps an arm under her belly to support her, his forearm braced against the mirror over her head. He speeds up, less finesse but a little more effort in it. The table rocks against the wall with their every movement and something heavy slides off and crashes to the floor, making even more of a racket. Then, the rise of her orgasm which drops over her like a heavy cloak and she near buckles under the weight of it, becoming a shuddering, throbbing mess and it's just - nothing if not a right proper finish all round, in fact.

Smiling to herself she feels his forehead resting against the back of her neck as he bows over her, the last few jerks of his hips, hears those little sounds he makes as he finishes. He breathes her name and then he just breathes, and she waits with him, still for a moment as her heart rate slows.

Then she arches up, stretching out her back and her arms over her head. He nuzzles into her neck, kisses her flushed skin and she tilts her head to the side, letting him. This thing - them - it's not perfect, may never be if for no other reason than they are, and always will be, them. But Sophie is nothing if not practical, and if they never get anything else right, well at least there's always this to fall back on. As back-up plans go it's not bad.

  


* * *

Completely unrelated, here are some pictures taken in my backyard in the past week. I may be lame at anything arty, but I own a camera!

  
some kind of pot plant, idk, and a rainbow lorikeet looking down through umbrella trees

  
the giant palm tree that has basically eaten the entire garden, and some pretty flowers, again idk what these are  



End file.
